Tag Archives: memories

I have a video of it in a VHS cassette. It’s lying in the spare room, which used to be my sewing room. It now holds all the household junk with which I can’t part. Some day, and somewhere in the realms of my mind there lurks a hope — maybe the things there turn out to be useful. I’m sure that’s not the case, but still I can’t throw away.

My late husband, my dear, darling daughter, and I had gone to spend a few days in the Northern Areas. I don’t remember the exact location for it’s truly a long while ago —but it definitely holds a place in memory.

They had a bet that if Nola held her finger in the frigid water of the stream for five minutes, she would get five thousand bucks. She had several attempts at it, laughingly allowed by her father each time she wanted another try.

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Coming August will mark the fifth death anniversary of my late husband. With passing on of the years my late husband is becoming a distant memory. I feel more of his presence in both homes in Peshawar, and the village home than here in Houston.

One reason can be that his photos hang in my own homes. They keep his memory alive. The photographs mark happy times in our lives with no shadow of death looming over them. They evoke happy times. The one hanging in the hallway shows him dressed in his military uniform, and looking totally handsome, and beguiling. The other one has both of us, covers a wall in the large kitchen in our Peshawar home.

My Quran teacher said that dead people’s photographs shouldn’t be displayed in our homes. That is one reason there is a small photo of my husband only on the fridge which son has pasted, and I have not hung any others here. Anyway the home I share with son is his, although all the furniture, and things belong to me.

I am not going to remove the photographs in my own homes. It maybe wrong according to my religious teacher, but I can’t deny the comfort they bring to my heart when I look at them. Maybe God won’t disapprove, and look over my misdoing.

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Yesterday I had a shock. I eagerly searched for a number in my old phone diary. I waited to hear the voice of my friend, and learned to my horror she was no more. Knowing fully well that no one can escape death, I had never thought that she will die so soon. The person who talked to me didn’t know any details.

Another sad happening last year was the divorce of my son. It devastated him, and the children, but life goes on.

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Despite the nineteen years edge I have over my son S, he scolds me when he sees me slowing down the car while taking a turn. He doesn’t understand my fear of having a repeat of what happened to me on 2nd June.

While taking a right turn, I didn’t slow down. The car went on a curb, and hit a tree. My car’s accident is still fresh in my mind. It will take some time for it to get erased from memory.

In a way it’s good, one learns from mistakes. I will always remain careful.

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In 2009 we (my late husband and I) visited our old friends and neighbors in Abbotabad. Our visit was a huge surprise for them. We had almost forgotten the way to their home. The previous empty plots of land had new houses built on them. It was no wonder we couldn’t find our way. The area was un recognizable.

While we waited in the drive way, their man servant went inside the house to tell them about our coming. I looked at the garden, and was delighted at finding the old tree stump I had given them was still part of their landscape. It looked enchanting with an urn of flowers on top of it, and more plants and flowers planted around it in the soil.